Ruby Gloom: Secret Origins
by Tall T
Summary: Where are Ruby's friends from, what did they do before they came to Gloomsville, and what are they really? These stories will give you the answers!
1. Misery's Family

** Ruby Gloom: Secret Origins, Chapter One:**

** Four facts About Banshees**

**1. Banshees Are Not Human**  
Banshees are a subspecies of female fairies. As such, the Gaelic word for their kind - which, when translated into English, means "woman of the fairy mounds" - is just about correct. Although it took ages, the banshees eventually developed a sense of identity. They became aware of two things that separated them from Earth's dominating species, the humans: First, they look different. Seen from a short distance, or in bad light, they might look the same. But human eyes are small, oval and lack the great, dark depth of the large banshee eyes. Human skins are nuances of brown and pink, unlike the blue-greyish skin of most banshees. Humans are bigger, too. Compared to them, banshees are short, skinny and scrawny. Compared to them, banshees look weak and sickly. Which is quite ironic, because human bodies are actually much more fragile than banshee ones. If a human catches a disease, it might have to lie down for days or weeks. If a human's leg breaks, it takes months to heal properly. If a human's neck breaks, it dies. All these things happen to banshees too - does it ever! - but the effects of the damage are always merely temporary. And that's how the banshees came to learn the meaning of death and immortality, and the second thing that separated them form humans: They were immortal. Human perished after only a few decades; even if they escaped sickness and damage, they would eventually just wither away and then die. Banshees don't wither. At some indeterminate time in her life, a banshee will simply stop aging. And then live on. Usually not a happy life, but still.

**2. Banshees are old, even ancient**  
Not even the banshees themselves know exactly how old their kind is. But the first banshee is still around to this day, though she mostly keeps to herself in a cave out in the wild. She probably didn't have a name to begin with, but nowadays, everyone calls her Mayhem. Mayhem have told her descendants of the days when she used to go hunting for the great, big lizards, until a great big light came down from the sky. Then the sun disappeared, and the great big lizards disappeared too. Mayhem's descendants later understood that she must have been talking about dinosaurs, and how they died out when a meteorite fell to the earth. The banshees then realized that their kind was even older than they first suspected, and that Mayhem probably walked the earth for ages before she had her first encounter with humankind.

She then mated with a young hunter named Trug and they had twins – two daughters who were also banshees. They had no names to begin with, but would eventually be known as Malady and Malaise. Trug didn't live for long; he met his end when he sank into a hole of quicksand. But Mayhem's daughters lived on, and like her, they became the harbingers of a great catastrophe. With them came the ice age. Or maybe it came _because_ of them, for the glaciers started melting when the sisters went their separate ways. Every time they come together, they still bring a cold front and everything in their immediate presence is gradually covered with ice.

As the ice age ended, something resembling civilizations began to emerge in human societies around the world. Mayhem despised civilization. She missed Trug and she missed the dinosaurs, and retreated to her cave in the wild. But her daughters, and eventually granddaughters, great-granddaughters and so forth travelled around and explored the human world.

**3. Banshees are one family**  
Throughout the centuries, banshees have mated with humans or with other species of fairies, but they only ever give birth one time each. And when they do, they always give birth to daughters. At the big family meeting by Mount Vesuvius, it was decided that the Kin (which was what they usually referred to themselves as, until humans thought of the name "banshee") should have an officially appointed Historian. She would be in charge of listing every major disaster witnessed by one (or more) of the family members. She would also be keeping track of the whereabouts of every family member, and as such, function as a liaison. On this meeting, it was also decided that the members of the Kin should, as a general rule, refer to one another as "cousins", even though most of them were related to each other in a more direct way. Partly this was because great-great-etc-daughters and great-great-etc-mothers, found it easier to just call each other "cousin" than to try and remember how many "greats" there were supposed to be between them. When none of your female ancestors ever dies, your family meetings can get pretty complicated. And partly, it was because the members of the Kin regard each other as equals. The banshees have one of the least hierarchical family structures in existence.

**4. Banshees know that bad things happen, and when**  
The banshees eventually realized that they were harbingers of disaster. It was their destiny. Bigger and smaller accidents happens all around them. And when a banshee lives in the same household as mortals, she forebodes the death of her mortal housemates by wailing loudly and terribly. This is the banshee's hallmark, as far as humans are concerned. The banshees' own hallmark is The Passage. Every banshee will once become witness to a great natural disaster that goes down in history: The end of Atlantis, the black plague, the great fires of London and Chicago, The Titanic. This is what they refer to as The Passage. Once a member of the Kin has been through The Passage, one might say that the worst is over. Except, of course, that a banshee never says things like "the worst is over" in fear that just saying so can cause worse things to happen. Disasters continue to happen when a banshee is around, but usually on a smaller scale. Usually.

* * *

So here it is, the first chapter of my Ruby Gloom origins fanfic. Misery is my favorite, so I'm starting with her. Besides, she is the character who's given the most number of hints about her background, so there's a lot of source material.

For my story to work, I decided I had to explain her family's background in some detail. So eventually, I split Misery's story into two chapters: one dealing with her entire family, and one dealing with her specifically.

Disclaimer: Ruby Gloom characters are owned by Mighty Fine and Nelvana.


	2. Misery

** Ruby Gloom: Secret Origins, Chapter Two:**

**Until I Wail Again**

In 1521, Agnes Glumchester, the first and only daughter of Lady Jean Glumchester and Lord Lucien "Lucky" Glumchester, was born in England.

That is to say, Agnes was her civil name. Her Kin name, which is the real name as far as banshees are concerned, was Misery. She was named after her great-grandmother, although Misery is a fairly common Kin name. The banshee custom of always taking names starting with the capital M was already several centuries old. Now the family was beginning to run out of impressive and menacing-sounding names beginning with an M. Lady Jean, whose Kin name was Migraine, was a good example of that. Originally, the point of this custom was to make it easier to keep track on the growing Banshee family, but with a dozens "Miserys" and "Morbids" around, it really wasn't working anymore. Nevertheless, the custom has remained to this day.

By staying away from the leeches that his mother tried to prescribe for every illness, Lord "Lucky" managed to live a fairly long life. For a human, anyway. But in 1562, he died from a heart condition. This surprised young Misery, who thought he was destined to die from sinking into quicksand. Every time she asked one of her relatives how their husbands or fathers died, the answer was always the same: He sank into quicksand. Misery thought this would be a very strange coincidence, and the death of her father made her suspicious. Did really every male member of her family, except for her own father, die in such a manner, or were the others banshees making fun of her? On the other hand, she reasoned, we _are_ supernatural creatures after all; such an amazing coincidence is theoretically possible. Maybe this _was_ the destiny of their fathers and husbands, and her father was just a unique exception. Then again, didn't her great-great-great-grandfather die in a swordfight? She'd heard that. However, another version of that story suggested that he had fallen into quicksand _during_ a swordfight. To this day, Misery still doesn't know what to believe.

Born of noble blood, Misery had no financial worries. But Human society's growing scepticism toward Faerie folk made it difficult for her to socialize. Eventually tiring of having to wear a mask, a veil or heavy make-up whenever she left her mother's estate, Misery accepted a job opportunity of sorts in Ireland. Five high-ranking Irish families – the O'Gradys, the O'Neills, the O'Briens, the O'Connors and the Kavanaghs – were looking for Faerie women to act as resident lament singers on their various family estates around the country. Misery spent many years at an O'Neill mansion outside the town of Landy where she, like several of her cousins, became famous for wailing immediately prior to the death of one of the resident family's members. With little to do in between deaths in the O'Neill family, Misery began exploring the mansion's considerable library. She took a keen interest in the books dealing with the history of mankind, and especially the parts dealing with various disasters that had befell them.

For ages, Misery never left the mansion, until 1871, when she went on a vacation to America. It became memorable, mostly because of her incident with O'Leary's cow in Chicago. The rest is, as they say, history. Migraine was very proud of her daughter for having become the harbinger of a disaster as famous as the Great Chicago Fire.

These were exciting times for Misery. A mere 50 years after the Chicago incident, she was proud to accept the position as the new family Historian, thanks to her intensive study of the family tree and of the history of disaster. She was especially proud of the fact that her cousin (actually her four times-great aunt) Mildew, the oriental Banshee who was the family's Historian at the time, had agreed to make Misery her successor. She knew that Mildew and her mother had never gotten along well.

But time marched on, and by 1980, the O'Neill family no longer lived in their Landy mansion. The property was sold, the surroundings were turned into a botanical garden, and the mansion itself was turned into a museum and a gallery. No-one ever lived in the mansion anymore, although the estate manager, the janitor and occasionally some wealthy tourists sometimes spent the night there. But they didn't count. To make matters worse, people in the nearby village still told stories about "Lady Agnes" the O'Neill Banshee, which meant that the mansion was frequently visited by television crews and tourists obsessed with the paranormal. Of course, these people were always out to capture her on film, or just capture her. Misery decided that her duties to the O'Neill family were over. She left the estate manager a polite letter where she explained that it was time to move on, and that the Landy mansion no longer had its own banshee. For the second time in her four-hundred year long life, Misery went to America. She was more that a little nervous about using planes, so instead she crossed the Atlantic on a cruise ship, accompanied by her cousins (actually her foremother and fore-aunt) Malady and Malaise. That wasn't a very smart move, as the journey was delayed by her being stranded on an ice flow and having to be picked up by pirates, but that's another story. Eventually, she got to America, where she went to stay with her mother in California.

Misery loved her mother, but the two of them didn't get along well for long (actually, very few of the family members got along well with Migraine for long). Unlike her daughter, Migraine had adjusted well to the modern life, and she had very little understanding for Misery's introverted behaviour and her old-fashioned appearance. She herself spent an hour and a half every day applying various make-up to make herself look more human, and she just couldn't understand why Misery would rather stay inside than to do the same thing. She kept pushing her on social matters:

"I mean, you're not even **try**ing dear. Your cousin Morose plays in a band with humans and she's doing **fine**…"

"That's because her bandmates and fans all think she's wearing a mask, mother. If they knew that she really looks like that…"

"But they **don't** know! Anyway, the point is, she **out** there, and she's **meet**ing people!"

She kept pushing her on matters of fashion:

"Well, it was you who bought me these clothes, mother"

"Four hundred and fifty years ago, yes! **Really**, dear that excuse is getting way too old!"'

"I like them."

"**How** can you **poss**ibly **like** that blue body-sized tent? It makes you stand out like a sore thumb! Or at least it **would**, if you ever went **out**! Speaking of which…"

And like most women of a certain age (although for banshees, that age is 800 and up), she really wanted grandchildren:

"Your cousin Morbid just had triplets! She's going to name them Myopic, Malice and Misbegotten. Here's a picture, aren't they just **adorable**?"

"Yes mother, they're very adorable."

"It's nice, isn't it, that at least **some** of us are carrying the lineage!"

And so time went by, until one day when Migraine came back from a short vacation in Canada with a small bunch of papers.

"I know you're not happy here, dear. Or should I say, I know you're even **more** unhappy than one of our kind **ought** to be. So I discussed the matter with my **good** friend Ms. Olivia Mandell at The Center –"

Misery knew all about The Center, a covert organization which secretly protected humans from supernatural threats or, if necessary, the other way around. The banshees had been working closely together with The Center from the organization's humble beginnings. Its central headquarters were currently in Quebec. So that's why her mother had gone to Canada…

"- And she suggested this", Migraine finished, handing her daugter a brochure.

"Gloomsville: The bright side of the dark side", she read out loud.

"A pittoresque town deep inside Canada", Migraine explained. "Olivia tells me that the people there **love** everything that is stylishly old-fashioned. And they're **used** to having supernatural creatures around. It's **perfect** for you! You can mingle with the locals without having to worry about how they will react. The weather isn't very nice but then, we're used to that, aren't we?" Migraine asked rhetorically, and looked out the window. Her neighbourhood just happened to have unusually many rainy days.

Misery glanced at brochure's cover image, which displayed a Victorian village covered in damp fog and surrounded by small hilltops. In the background was a mansion on the edge of a cliff. Underneath the picture was a small icon; a heart with crossbones through it. The place did indeed look inviting. But…

"Where would I live? We have no family in that town", Misery pointed out. As the family's Historian, one of her duties was to keep track on the whereabouts of all the family members.

Migraine handed her a print-out with a picture of the mansion seen in the background of the brochure's image. It said: Gloomsville Manor.

"Owned by the town's founding family, the Glooms. They have a long-running tradition for giving shelter to people who are…well, for the lack of a better word, not human. Most of its tenants **are** very young, but **that** shouldn't be too much of a problem. After all, you look almost like a child yourself. At least if you don't tighten your corset too much. And besides, you **do** have an unusually flat chest, even for a member of our family. Uh, no offense meant, dear" she added with an apologetic grin.

"None taken", Misery responded, although she frowned when she said it.

There were no public airports anywhere near Gloomsville, but the trains stopped there. Having packed her first-aid kit, her family logbook and what little else hand-baggage she had (her mother had promised to send for the bed of nails), Misery got on the train to Vancouver, where she would make a change for the train to Gloomsville. In Vancouver, the conductor looked at her curiously until she showed him her ticket. As he read it, and realized she was going to Gloomsville, he nodded and smiled. Well, that was a good sign. Migraine had given her a letter from the Centre with instructions and explanations. Amongst other things, it pointed out that the Gloom family and the other residents of the mansion had not been informed about Misery's banshee nature, because it was not considered necessary. This worried Misery. She'd prefer it if they were informed about this already, so that she wouldn't have to answer all the awkward questions that were sure to come the moment she set her feet in the manor.

By the time she arrived Gloomsville it was raining, which Misery thought was appropriate. Right ahead of her was the Gloomsville Mansion. Misery took another look at the letter from The Centre. Apparently, she was supposed to ask for someone named Ruby. She went to the front gate, and rang the bell. B Minor. Neat. Then she took a quick peek at her reflection in a rain puddle, and was gripped by doubt once again

_This won't work_ , she thought to herself. _This Ruby lady will take one look at me - at my enormous, black eyes, my grey skin and my Elizabethan clothes, and she'll think: What the hell is that? There's no way she'll be able to treat me like a normal person._

Her pessimistic train of thought was interrupted by the door opening. Standing in the entrance was a young girl with red hair, long red-and-yellow stockings and a somewhat old-fashioned, but in Misery's opinion, very tasteful black dress. What was it humans called that style of clothing nowadays? Goth?

"Hi" she said dully. "I'm looking for Ruby"

"That would be me.", the girl replied with a sincere-looking smile. "And you must be Misery Agnes Glumchester."

"Uh, yeah" Misery said with surprise in her voice. Surprised, partly because a human girl who looked as if she could hardly be more than ten or eleven years old was acting as a hostess, and partly because she had bothered to learn Misery's full name in advance. "But everyone just calls me Misery." _And now she's going ask me why I go by a name like Misery. It's inevitable. It's what I would've done. I mean, she must be curious!_

"Welcome Misery", the girl said cheerfully.

_Oh, sure your voice says welcome, but your eyes say…_ She looked into Ruby's eyes _… welcome._

"So, are you coming in?", Ruby asked, still cheerful.

Misery stepped inside the entrance hall, which was very big and looked very old and was full of paintings and antiques. The walls were covered by dark, heavy tapestries in several different patterns. The heart-and-crossbones icon seemed to be a recurring theme; there were both doors and windows made in that shape. Misery liked the mansion already.

"I'll introduce you to the gang; they're in the living room. But first, I suppose you'd like to leave your luggage somewhere?"

"Yes, I suppose." She consulted the letter, and then continued: "I've been told you have a nice, cold room available in the basement."

"Ah, yes" - for the first time this evening, Ruby sounded uncertain - "We do, but are you sure you want it? I mean, it looks like a dungeon." She led Misery to a stony staircase which looked even older than the rest of the house. "In fact, it _was_ originally a dungeon", she continued as they walked downstairs, "This house was built on the ruins of an old jailhouse. And anyway, we got plenty of room upstairs."

Misery looked around. "No, I'm fine" she replied, and allowed herself a little smile for the first time in months. Ruby shrugged and returned her smile.

Then they went upstairs, where Misery was introduced to the other tenants. Everyone talked to her, everyone was nice to her. Nobody asked her awkward questions.

Misery used to wonder how mortals could bear their existence, knowing how short time they had to live. She concluded that they just had to avoid thinking about it, otherwise they would go mad. Now that she lives in Gloomsville Manor, she occasionally has something of the same problem herself.

She'd never gotten too emotionally attached to any mortal before. The closest thing she ever got was her own father and Gwen O'Neill, the pleasant old lady at the Landy mansion who sometimes liked to chat with her. But now she has. After all these years, she finally dares to have friends, real friends outside the family. They like her in spite of her accident-prone nature. They don't judge her. They probably don't even know that she is a Banshee, and are giving the impression that even if they knew, it wouldn't change anything.

But there are times when she thinks she's going mad, knowing that most her friends are mortal, and that they will eventually die on her. For the moment, she just has to force herself not to think about it.

As long as she can do that, she is…somewhat happy.

* * *

I hope you like this one, because I'm thinking of writing origin stories for more of the Ruby Gloom cast. I'd like to do either Iris or Scardey Bat next.

By the way, the Center and M.O.M., alias Ms. Olivia Mandell, are from the cartoon _Martin Mystery_. I'm not really a fan of Martin Mystery, and this is not supposed to be a crossover fic, but it was convenient to make a few references to that show.

Disclaimer: Ruby Gloom characters and concepts are owed by Mighty Fine and Nelvana. Martin Mystery characters and concepts are owned by Marathon Production


	3. Iris

**Ruby Gloom: Secret Origins, Chapter Three:**

**The Little Giantess**

Deep inside Hudson Bay lies an uncharted island named Haven. The reason the island is uncharted is that it's a sanctuary to all manners of supernatural creatures that need special protection, or just want to be left alone. Haven is run by The Center, a covert organization which secretly protects humans from supernatural threats and vice versa. Their island sanctuary used to be in the Bermuda triangle, but it was getting to much attention there. Most of Haven's inhabitants are used to a much warmer climate than the sub-arctic Hudson Bay can offer, but thanks to imported heat from the Caribbean, The Center is still able to both protect supernatural creatures and offer them living conditions in a pleasant climate.

Most of Haven's inhabitants are classified as animals, but the island is also populated by a few humanoid species. The most prominent of these are the Cyclopses - or the Cyclopes, which is the correct plural form. Although the Cyclopes are one of the oldest races of giants, they have never been held in a very high regard. This might be because they never ruled over vast territories - Unlike the trolls who spread out all over Scandinavia, and the patagones who spread out all over South America's hills and plains. At the most, there were about 15, 000 Cyclopes in the world, most of whom were living on small Mediterranean islands. Today, there are only nine hundred of them left. Almost all of them are currently living on Haven.

Cyclopes never paid much attention to their reputation, either. But maybe they should have. Traditionally, there are two legends about the Cyclopes. The first one, from Hesiod's _Theogonyis_, tells that Cyclopes built the weapons with which the Greek gods defeated the Titans. The other one is that the Cyclops Polyphemus killed and ate several of Odysseus' men when they visited a Cyclops island, and that he tried to keep the rest of them, including Odysseus himself, captive so he could eat them later. Unfortunately, that's the story everyone knows. Polyphemus' own version of the story is that he did kill two men that Odysseus had sent out as a scouting party. He tried to justify this by explaining that because of a long period of draught, his sheep had become very skinny, and he was starving for some good meat. He also added that Odysseus and his men were never his captives, and that he had no intention of capturing or eating the rest of them.

Unfortunately, only the Cyclopes (and the Center's appointed Historians) know that story. It does make more sense, however. First, humans have never been considered a prey species to the Cyclopes. Second, a single Cyclops could never eat that much human flesh. For while Cyclopes are _giants_, they are not _massive_. Odysseus exaggerated the size of the Cyclopes, as he did with so many other things. After all, he was a soldier who had to explain to his wife why he came home ten years after the war ended. He needed a good story. In truth, a fully grown Cyclops rarely gets any bigger than three meters ten feet. Pre-pubertal Cyclopes are usually about 1.80-1.90 meters 6.0 to 6.3 feet.

Some are even smaller.

* * *

WOO-HOO!!

Tataris, Chieftain of the Cyclopes, watched his daughter from a distance. He had no choice, as she was high up in the air at the moment, riding on the back of a flightworm.

He had many reasons to be proud of his little Iris. She was courageous, kind, sociable and highly charismatic. She was liked by everyone on Haven, not just the other Cyclopes. The fact that she managed not only to find, but also to befriend the very rare flightworm, was just one of many examples on her outgoing nature. She had gained the trust of the otherwise people-shy jackalopes. The reckless harpy teens practically considered her one of them. And even the Squonk couldn't bring himself to cry in Iris' presence. All the king's horses and all the king's men could never put a smile on that face. But Iris could.

Yes, Tataris had many reasons to be proud of his little Iris. But even so, his little Iris had one problem that couldn't be ignored.

The very fact that she was little.

His wife had told him that some girls are just late bloomers. His deputy Chieftain had told him the same thing. And so had Ms. M form the Center. Iris might just be a late bloomer. He'd been hearing that so often that he was beginning to suspect that it was a conspiracy to make him feel better. Still, who knows? Iris was only eleven, after all. She had yet to reach puberty. However, she was about to turn twelve, and all Cyclopes knew what that meant. Soon, it was time for the Transition, when every adolescent Cyclops had to leave his or her parent's cave (actually, the Cyclopes of Haven were living in cabins now, but they still referred to their homes as "caves") and try to manage on their own. If they were resourceful enough, they were expected not to come back until three years later.

Iris landed Squig (as she had decided to name the flightworm) on the other side of the hill, where the Cyclops kids where having a party. It was midsummer night's evening, so they were allowed to stay up late. Tatris noticed a sudden outburst of laughter and applause from the other side of the hill, accompanied by a stream of random, fluttering lights. That could only mean that Iris was performing her hallmark party trick: juggling three lit lanterns at once.

Tataris began walking up the hillside, but was interrupted by a voice he knew very well.

"Good evening, Chieftain. You wanted to see me?"

Tataris looked down, and spotted a stern-looking, middle-aged human woman all dressed in white: Ms. M from the Center.

"Yes, Madame. Actually I asked three weeks ago, but…"

"- but as you know, I'm a very busy woman. And as you no doubt also know, I do my annual inspection rounds on Haven every midsummer evening. So I thought we might as well have our little chat then."

"Yes of course, of course. Uh, shall we retreat to my cabin?"

"I'd rather do some field observations, if you don't mind", Ms. M replied. She began walking up the hillside and gave Tataris a sign to follow her.

From the top of the hill they watched the party.

"Even from a distance, I can see that your daughter is…well, she hasn't changed much, has she?"

Tataris shook his head. "Five point four feet, last time we measured."

"Yes, I can see she hasn't grown much, physically. But what I meant was: she hasn't changed much in the sense that she is still popular, friendly and well liked by everyone."

"Yeah, well - "Tataris frowned - "What are you trying to tell me, Ms. M?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Chieftain, that there's more to a person than physical size."

"Very true, Madame. And perhaps in human society, skills and personality can fully compensate for the lack of physical size. But it doesn't work that way for us. A formidable physical presence is necessary to wield authority."

"Is it important that Iris wields any particular kind of authority?"

Tataris sighed. "I still hope to see her become Chieftain one day. Not only because my family has held that position in five generations, but because she would be so good at it. The only thing she's lacking is…well, you know."

"Suppose she doesn't want to become Chieftain?"

"Who doesn't want to become a leader?"

"You never know. Besides, isn't that what the Transition is for? To find out what the children of your people are going to do with their lives?"

"As a matter of fact, that's what I wanted to discuss with you. I've been wondering where I could send my daughter off. This island is populated by many fierce creatures that are too much for such a little girl to handle. Iris has gotten very far with her happy-go-lucky attitude, but her courage and charming smile alone won't save her from, say, a manticore."

"Have you considered alternative places of Transition?

"What do you mean, alternative?"

"Tell me Chieftain, your daughter is not illiterate, is she?"

"Wha - _of course_ she's not illiterate!" Tataris snapped.

"No offense, sir, I just wanted to make sure. After all, the Center only requires a few years of formal schooling for the children on this island. Many of them are, for all practical purposes, illiterate because they think formal education is useless out here."

"Well, Iris does not think so! We have raised her to be a bright young woman with respect for education and knowledge! What's you point, Madame?

"For her Transition, have you considered sending her to…civilization?"

At this moment, Tataris lost the rest of his composure. "Civilization! That is madmen's talk, woman! Civilization has no place for the likes of us. Iris would stand out like a sore eye!"'

"The expression is sore _thumb_, Chieftain" Ms. M commented calmly. "But whether it was intentionally or not, that was a good choice of words. The eye is the problem, right?"

Tataris looked doubtingly at her, as if he was waiting for her to get to the point. So she did.

"Then we could send her to a place where people wouldn't be bothered by her eye."

"Surely, such a place does not exist in the human world."

"It does, Chieftain, and I should know. It's called…"

* * *

"...Gloomsville Manor?", Iris said while studying a brochure.

"The town's founding family, the Glooms, have a long-running tradition for giving shelter to, shall we say, creatures of the night.", Ms. M explained.

"But I'm not a creature of the night", Iris replied confused. "That is to say, I like to stay up late when I'm allowed to – "

"Just a figure of speech, miss. What I mean is, they give shelter to people who would ordinarily attract too much attention in the human world."

"I guess that'd include me" Iris said reflectively and looked herself in the mirror. Some of the older Cyclops kids had commented that she was so short she could almost pass for a human. She didn't really take any offence at this, as she was perfectly happy with herself the way she was. But just out of curiosity, she had occasionally tried to comb her hair over her face, or put on an eye patch, to see if it made her look like a human who was just concealing her other eye. It never worked. Just like with all other Cyclopes, Iris' single eye was enormous and right in the middle of her face. It was impossible to make it look as if there was another eye there.

"But not in Gloomsville, miss, that's the beauty of it. Not just in the manor, but in the whole town, people are jaded. They see supernatural creatures all the time, and take them for granted. No one will pay any attention to your single eye. They're more likely to pay attention to your lively, adventurous spirit."

"Cool! I'm going!"

"WHAT?"

Tataris and his wife Badebec, Iris' mother, had been quiet until now. They had invited Ms. M for lunch to discuss the matter of the Transition with Iris herself. And while they assured Iris that the decision was ultimately up to her, the idea of sending off their only child to the unpredictable civilization frightened them both.

"Uh, are you sure you don't want to think this over some more, sweetheart?", Tataris asked his daughter while slapping his wife on the back. In the shock, Badebec had nearly chocked on a piece of mutton. "I mean, none of our kind has ever tried to live in civilization for a prolonged period of time before."

"Good point dad! See, that's exactly why I should go!"

"Huh?"

Iris got off her chair. "What did we ever get for staying away from civilization all this time? I'll tell you what: This!" she said, demonstratively picking up a specific book. It was Homer's _Odyssey_.

Do you remember when the council wanted you to burn this book? Do you remember what you told them, dad? You said we need to keep a copy of this book as a reminder of what happens when we let humans decide what is true and untrue about us. You said that it would help us to learn from our mistakes. Well, now I'm trying to learn from our mistakes! I wanna go out into the world and show people what we Cyclopes are really like!"

Miss M smiled. Tataris was right; his daughter was indeed a bright young woman.

"But you've never been off this island, dear. You don't know anything about civilization!", Badebec argued desperately.

"I know plenty about civilization, mom, from the books at school, and the harpies' teen magazines and the movies they're showing us on Film Theatre Nights"

Iris apparently seemed to think that this was the end of the discussion, because she now immediately turned to Ms. M and asked her "Squig can come along, right?"

Tataris and Badebec allowed themselves a moment of hope. Ms. M very rarely gave anyone permission to take crypto-zoological animals away from the sanctuary that was the island of Haven, even if it was only temporary. And if Iris couldn't have Squig with her, she probably didn't want to leave at all.

"Please? You said that nobody pays attention to supernatural creatures in Gloomsville, so that means they'll leave Squig alone, right? No problem, right?" Iris gave the human woman her best pleading look, which was in fact very effective. Ever since Ms. M began dealing with the business of relocating Cyclopes, she had discovered one universal constant: The bigger a child's eye is, the more irresistible it is. The eye of a Cyclops child is four times bigger than the eye of a human child, so the math is easy: A look from one pleading Cyclops child is worth the look of two pleading human children.

Ms. M sighed. "I'll have to sign an awful lot of papers, and so will you, but…I think we can arrange something."

"Ohthankyouthankyou!" Iris ran out to the front yard. "You hear that, Squig? We're going travelling!"

Ms. M turned once again turned her attention to the parents. Tataris and Badebec still looked worried about the whole scenario, but the instant panic was gone from their eyes.

"Seriously, your graces, I think this experience would do Iris good. Besides, the Transition means that soon she has to leave you for three years anyway, right?" She reasoned. "However, since Iris is still a minor, I'm going to need your permission to send her off the island. So…"

The Center's multi-tasking director gave Tataris a friendly, but firm look. "Chieftain, you said you would respect your daughter's wishes in the matter, and she just made her wishes quite clear. Do you stand by your word?"

* * *

Three weeks later, Iris turned twelve, and four weeks later she was ready to go. Much to Iris' disappointment, the Center had refused to let her fly to Gloomsville on Squig's back. She would have to take a boat with Squig in a tow until they reached the coast of Manitoba. From there on, they would get a ride to Gloomsville in one of the Center's livestock transportation trucks.

It was inevitable that Iris' farewell would drag out All manners of Haven-based creatures that the girl had befriended over the years showed up to say goodbye. And her mom cried even more and longer than the Squonk. But after a few hours, Iris was finally ready to go. Already now, she had replaced the usual fur coat that all Cyclopes wore on an everyday basis with a black dress with matching red-and-grey stockings. It didn't look very fashionable compared to the young girls' clothing she'd seen in the teen magazines. But Ms. M assured her that this was the type of clothing young ladies wore in Gloomsville, and she believed her. Ms. M did not have a reputation for being a practical joker.

Iris had meant every word she said last month. However, there was another, more personal reason why she agreed to Ms. M's suggestion: She really, really wanted to travel. She had already explored every inch of the island (although much of it from the safety of Squig's back) and its surrounding waters, and now Haven was beginning to feel like a prison to her. A big, open and beautiful prison, but a prison nevertheless. The moment she realized that the Center, represented by its leader in person, was giving her this one rare opportunity to see the world, she had jumped on it immediately.

When they arrived the coast, Squig was at first nervous and claustrophobic about travelling in the back of a livestock truck. Iris had to go in the back and comfort him all the time. But he was beginning to calm down now, so she took the opportunity to sit down in the front seat and just enjoy the view of the landscape that was passing before her eye. The view of the mythical land known as The Rest Of The World.

* * *

Although Iris is rarely shy about anything, there are some things she will only do when she is absolutely certain that no-one is watching her. One of these things is to search for hair on her forearms. Her mom has hair on her forearms, and so do many of the bigger Cyclops girls back home. The morning she wakes up and finds something like that, she knows she will become just like them. Or maybe she will get another sign - like waking up one morning and discovering that she's grown one foot taller (and possibly one foot _wider_ as well) overnight. She could be a late bloomer; she'd heard that many times back at home. But what will happen if she grows up to become, by Cyclops standards, a midget? Probably nothing special. She will still enjoy life and hang out with her friends. And what will happen if she grows up to become a proper giantess? Probably the same thing, although at least her parents will be a little happier. Let nature take its course; don't worry about it.

What worries Iris more is what will happen when she turns fifteen, whether she is big or small by that time. She misses her parents and her friends at home. But she'll be missing Ruby and her other friends in Gloomsville if she goes back home. And where is home, really? Is she really going to settle down on Haven after having gotten a glimpse of what the outside world has to offer? Someday, she'll be forced to make some very though decisions.

But not right now. Not today. Today, and all other days, Iris is living for the moment.

* * *

_A/N: Here it is at last – Iris' origin story. We've gotten very little information and very few hints about Iris' family and background (none, really), so I could basically write whatever I wanted about her. However, from the very beginning, I knew what the central theme of the story would be: Mythologically, Cyclopes are supposed to be giants, so I've been wondering why Iris is so little._

_Once again, I've borrowed the Center and Ms. M, alias M.O.M., from_ Martin Mystery_ for the purpose of this story. Just for the record, I don't plan on making it every RG character's origin story that she or he was sent to Gloomsville by the Center, but I think it works well for Iris._

_Iris, Gloomsville and all Ruby Gloom properties is (c) Mighty Fine / Nelvana_

_The Center and Ms. M / M.O.M. is (c) Marathon Productions_

_Iris' parents and the island of Haven is (c) me_


	4. Scardey Bat

** Chiropteria Domesticus**

Dr. Shahroukh Singh was only animal psychologist in Madhya Pradesh who specialized in anthropomorphic animals. This is not as prestigious as it might sound. Anthros mostly keeps to themselves, and they don't have any more money than most people in the district. The only Anthro psychologists who makes good money off their profession are ones who pampers to Hollywood bigshots and children's television stars. Or to rich women who keep anthros as pets, of course. Shahroukh's salary was mostly paid by the Indian state. In return, he delivered the results of his research to the government.

In any case, Shahroukh wasn't in this for the money, but because he was fascinated by the psyche of anthropomorphic animals. In particular, there was one animal that had piqued his interest for several years. It was a young male bat named Pterohandrashekaran, and he had come to see Shahroukh regularly since he was just a pup. He had a round face and large, round eyes that always looked worried. That was because Pterohandrashekaran always _was_ worried. He suffered from omniphobia, the fear of pretty much everything: Of predators, big animals that weren't predators, medium-sized animals that weren't predators (basically, most animals), caves, cliffs, lakes, rivers, the jungle itself, and - most incredibly and tragically - of _the dark_ and of _flying_. That ought to have been a major problem, since a bat that wouldn't fly couldn't catch mosquitoes or flies. Fortunately, Pterohandrashekaran didn't have to starve. His family lived close to humans, and where there are humans, there's light in the evening. And where there's light in the evening, there are dead insects. Oddly enough, he wasn't very afraid of people, maybe because he considered the human settlement - the towns and cities - to be less unpredictable than the jungle.

It was difficult to find one particular explanation for his omniphobia. His father fell prey to a jackal cub when the boy was quite young, but Pterohandrashekaran had been displaying such tendencies even before that happened. No doubt the loss of his father had at such a young age had intensified Pterohandrashekaran's fears in general, but they didn't begin with this. They appeared to have been following him from birth.

Pterohandrashekaran got by, but amongst his own kind he was objectively a freak. A bat that didn't fly, that was afraid of the dark, and that even refused to sleep hanging from his feet – how much of a bat was he, really? Young Pterohandrashekaran tried to argue that, being anthropomorphic, they were considered freaks by most bats anyway. But that argument wasn't good enough for his mother Chiropti, who was getting increasingly worried. So eventually, she decided to follow him on one of his therapy lessons, the first one he had after turning eighteen.

"Something must be done, Doctor. He is a fully grown bat now. The family can't protect him forever. It's time he got a family of his own anyway, most of my other children already do. But how can he even get a mate when he won't even fly?"

"Mother!" Pterohandrashekaran cried out, dark red with embarrassment.

"I'm only saying what needs to be said, son."

Dr. Singh sighed. After years of therapy lessons paid for by a very limited welfare budget set aside for anthropomorphic animals, he finally knew what to do with the case of young Pterohandrashekaran. It wasn't the ideal solution, but it was sound enough. And with the boy's mother present, he could finally put it forward.

"Well, ma'am I'm afraid your son's omniphobia seems to be pathological. I can't cure it. However…I think I know how he can live with it".

"How?"

"Pterohandrashekaran seems to be slightly more comfortable in an urban environment than a in the wild. Maybe he just needs to change his…natural habitat."

Pterohandrashekaran brightened up for the first time this day:

"So I wouldn't have to live in the jungle? Ooh, I like the sound of that!"

"Please, son, not so fast! Do you really want to live on the street?"

"Gah! I hadn't thought of that!" the young bat exclaimed, remembering all the things he was afraid of in town: cars, dogs, curious humans…

"Not like that." Dr. Singh assured them, "I meant living in a human household."

Chiropti raise an eyebrow.

"Doctor, are you suggesting that my son should allow himself to be…domesticated?"

"Being anthropomorphic, you are already domesticated in a manner of speaking ma'am."

"Hmm, but I don't want my son to end up a pet. He's being humiliated enough as it is."

Pterohandrashekaran moaned in embarrassment yet again.

"That may not be a problem, ma'am, not with the place I had in mind. See, last year I went to Canada to do some research. And amongst other things I was interviewing three anthropomorphic ravens - three brothers. Or actually, I was _trying_ to interview them. Unfortunately, two of them simply refused to talk, while the third one talked altogether too much, if you ask me. But I digress. Now, these ravens were - and still are, to the best of my knowledge - living in a special manor. A manor known to be a sanctuary for all manners of creatures, both humanoid and anthropomorphic, who doesn't fit in or feel at home anywhere else. If I put in a good word for young Pterohandrashekaran, I'm sure they can find a place for him there."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that, too. Canada is a very safe country." Pterohandrashekaran argued. "I've read about that in the magazines in your waiting room."

Chiropti pondered at this. Canada was far away, but she didn't want to be too sentimental about it. Pterohandrashekaran was a grown bat now, and he was willing to give this a try, which in itself was a good sign. The boy was rarely willing to give things a try. Besides, Chiropti already had a sister, Phillis, who was married in Mexico, so she was no stranger to the idea of having family members living on a different continent.

Getting an okay from the mansion's owners, the Gloom family went quickly. Getting the grant necessary to pay for and airline ticket took a little longer. Fortunately, Pterohandrashekaran agreed to travel as a pet, meaning he would travel in a cage rather than having his own seat on an airplane. It was cheaper that way, although Dr. Singh knew Pterohandrashekaran was doing this to make things easier for himself, not to make things easier for the authorities. If he stayed in a cage all the time, nobody would wonder why he didn't just fly when he wanted to move anywhere. And so it came to be that even as he was sitting on the trolley that would literally take him to the doorstep of Gloomsville manor, he was still in his nice, safe, no-questions-asked pet cage.

When the trolley finally arrived, however, Pterohandrashekaran was slightly worried to find an anthropomorphic raven waiting for him. No doubt he would expect to see the bat fly. On the way from the trolley stop, Pterohandrashekaran made sure he was always one step behind Poe (for that was the raven's name, as he was quick to point out), fluttering his wings as if he was about to take off. He couldn't bring himself to admit he was afraid of flying.

"I am so delighted to have the company of another Anthro in this house." Poe commented. "That is to say, one that talks. There's always my brothers, but they're not very sociable to say the least. And Miss Ruby's cat is not a great talker, either."

Pterohandrashekaran noticed that the raven was taking off and flying up towards a tree. Uh-oh.

"Mm, yes, being a distant relative of the great Edgar Allan Poe's pet budgie Paco…."

The rest of this conversation (which was really more of a monologue) was lost on Pterohandrashekaran, as he noticed a clever-looking lift system on the other side of the tree, ran towards it and hurriedly used it to pull himself up. When he'd reached the cabin on top of the tree, he was out of breath. But at least Poe was fooled:

"Young man, you obviously should refrain from talking while flying."

When he got his breath back, Pterohandrashekaran looked around.

"This...mansion is a lot smaller than I imagined", he commented.

Poe chuckled. "Silly boy. The mansion is down to the left." Poe explained, pointing. "This tree residence is my personal space. I only brought us here because I felt the need to freshen up a little before we go down and introduce you to the others."

Pterohandrashekaran sighed deeply.

* * *

When Pterohandrashekaran finally arrived at the mansion itself, the rest of the tenants were at the kitchen. His first reaction upon meeting the others was to wonder if Dr. Singh was playing a very cruel joke on him. The tenants of this house all seemed to be some kind of ghouls or monsters: A living skeleton with wide eyeballs, a diminutive Cyclops, a young man with two heads, and a girl with rugged, blue-greyish skin. The only ones in the crowd who looked remotely normal was the pale, red-haired little girl who seemed to act as the hostess, and her cat. However, none of the creatures looked particularly threatening.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet our new house guest" the red-haired girl announced "He's from India, and he's going to stay with us for a while because he's scared to live in the jungle."

The girl's voice was sweet and soothing, and Pterohandrashekaran felt a little better already.

The blue-greyish girl raised a hand.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't catch the name...?"

"O, silly me, I haven't introduced him by name yet. My bad. Why, his name is" – The red-haired girl hesitated, then picked up the letter she had received from Dr. Singh – "Puhtero..."

"Actually, the P is not spoken, Miss.", the bat pointed out.

"Oh, right. Then it's Tero...handra...shek...aran."

For a moment, nobody made a move. Then the others almost simultaneously began wrinkling their foreheads and moving their lips as if they were silently trying to pronounce the name "Pterohandrashekaran". Everyone except for the left head on the two-headed boy; He was just staring dumbfounded into empty air, like a deer staring into headlights.

The red-haired girl smiled apologetically. "You don't have a...nickname or something?"

"Well, the other kids back in Bandhavgarh used to call me Scardey Bat…"

"Scardey Bat, huh? That's kind of cute. Scardey Bat..."

Scardey Bat! Why had he even mentioned that name? He used to hate it! That's what the other bat kids had been calling him ever since he was a pup. In the beginning they only used it when they wanted to be mean, but eventually they called him that all the time, just out of habit. It still hurt, tough.

But when this red-haired girl used the name, it sounded nice and cozy, almost…friendly. It was strange how the meaning of a name could change so completely, depending on the voice that spoke it.

"Still", the red-haired girl added. "It sounds a bit…demeaning. Are you okay with us calling you that?"

"Yes", Pterohandrashekaran nodded, "Scardey Bat will do nicely."

* * *

A/N

Needless to say, this is Scardey Bat's origin story. I was wondering what aspect to focus on when writing about Scardey Bat. Eventually, I decided not to speculate too much on _why_ Scardey is afraid of everything; any explanation I could come up with seemed at bit too anticlimactic. Instead, I wanted this to be a story about Scardey's family background and ethnicity.

I hope you like it, even though Scardey's origin story is not the one that has been in demand the most. Now I'll probably get started on Frank and Len's origin, which is going to be a great deal more dramatic!


	5. Frank & Len

**This is RIP: The Deleted Scene **

* * *

A/N: Here it is, at last- The origin of Frank and Len! I originally had a completely different story in mind, but after watching Frank & Len Unplugged, I had to start all over again. However, this episode inspired me to do the story form a new and fresh angle. The story now takes place shortly after Frank and Len's rockumentary "This Is RIP" is finished, and is told entirely from Misery's POV.

By the way, I would like to thank "Violet ze EcoFreak" very much for the glowing and very detailed review she gave me a few weeks ago I was deeply moved by her enthusiasm, and wanted to send her a personal thank-you message, but she didn't have an account.

* * *

FROM MISERY'S CHRONICLE:

While making Frank and Len's documentary I took the opportunity to inquire about their past. Of course, that was only natural in a biographical documentary like this, but I must admit that a lot of the questions I asked them was out of personal curiosity

While I believe they answered me to the best of their abilities, the information they gave us, the film crew who also happens to be their best friends, was surprisingly scarce - And, even more surprisingly, trivial. In addition to the confessions from their brief period as a polka outfit, these are the two scenes where I managed to get remotely interesting information about the brothers' past from themselves:

_- (AHEM)…so what were you guys like as kids? Did you have any interest in music already then?_

_- Uh…_

_- Yep!_

_(Cue to brief flashback of Frank and Len as babies, trying to play a xylophone. No comments during this; it's pretty self-explanatory)_

_- (Frank and Len both laugh)_

_- Hey, whatever happened to that guitar?_

_- It was a xylophone. Len. That's the point of the story_

_- Oh right. I loved that xylophone guitar!_

_(they both laugh)_

_- Good one, Len!_

_- Thanks_

_(They both laugh some more, then suddenly look awkwardly at each other)_

_- Hey, remember that time you dared me to glue my butt to my chair? _

_- We couldn't stand up for a week!_

_(They both laugh again, then suddenly look awkwardly at each other - again)_

_- No, I don't remember that._

_- Yeah - me neither!_

_- It's gonna be along ride…_

And this:

_- So how did you find your way to Gloomsville Manor?_

_- We didn't have to. We live there!_

_- I think she meant how we found our way to Gloomsville Manor in the first place, Len._

_- Oh! Well, we took to the left after Gloomsville main street, then walked up the small hill on the north of…Frank, you're giving me that look again._

_(Frank turns and looks into the camera)_

_- That's simple, we answered an ad in Gloomsville Gazette: "Garage, rebuilt as a cabin, for rent. Located on the ground of Gloomsville Manor, very close to the main building. Includes one large living room with excellent acoustics, and one lavatory. 400 square feet. Tenants are free to use the main building's bathrooms, laundry and kitchen."_

_(Photo of said cut-out ad is shown while Frank is reading the text out loud)_

_(Then switch back to Frank and Len)_

_- It was the part about the acoustics that did it for us._

_- Yep!_

Like I said, trivial. But also quite illuminating. At least it _appeared _we finally got the answer to the one burning question that we had always been too polite to ask Frank and Len: Were they _born _as Siamese twins? I mean, a human with two heads is not a common sight, not even in Gloomsville. And the answer we got was apparently yes, they were born that way. After all, we got to see family pictures and an old home movie of Frank and Len as _one_ baby with _two _heads. If they were that way, even as babies, they must've been born that way, right? Mystery solved, right?

Or…

Like Frank said in the clip, they are using the main building's bathroom. All of us who live there have, on occasion, seen Frank and Len enter or leave the shower. On one such occasion, I noticed that their upper body seems to be stitched together in the middle, as if they were two halves put together. I've also noticed that their skin seems to be of two slightly different colour nuances, and that the colour change _exactly in the middle_.

And then there's the tattoo on their chest. You'd think that was a gimmick they thought up in more recent years, but no. According to the old home movie, they've been having that tattoo since they were babies. What kind of freakish humans would give their infant children a permanent tattoo?

Frank and Len's parents, Richard and Alexandra Hollister, certainly doesn't seem to be that kind. I did an interview with them in their downtown Gloomsville apartment, and gave them a few minutes of screen time in the documentary. After all, they were the ones who lent me the old home movie and gave me permission to use it. Besides, they gave me some fairly important information. Interestingly, they are both musicians, which proves that Frank and Len got the talent in their blood. Richard was playing the banjo and Alexandra was playing the balalaika when they met at a folk music festival in Gloomsville years ago. Another interesting thing about them is that they are rather _old _for the parents of two boys in their mid-teens. I'm pretty sure they're both somewhere around sixty years.

Anyway, the documentary was a wrap. Frank and Len became friends again (I'll admit that I deliberately stirred up a conflict between the brothers to make the documentary more interesting. I knew them well enough to know they would patch things up very soon) and it was a success. And that ought to have been the end of the story. Except…

I couldn't stop pondering about those stitches. And the tattoo…the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I had seen it before somewhere.

For the next few days, I was either going through old newspapers down at the Gloomsville public library, or I was studying books both in the public library, the manor's library and in my own collection. My friends had no idea what I was doing; they probably just thought I needed a little alone time. Which is just as well, because quite frankly, I could never admit to them what I was really doing. And I certainly couldn't admit what I found out.

A pattern began to emerge very soon. Only one piece of the puzzle was still missing. Fortunately, it wasn't very hard to find. In fact, it was next door.

The following, highly illuminating conversation was written down from memory as soon as I got back home. After all, I couldn't bring a tape recorder, let alone a camera. That would give the wrong impression.

"Ah, Miss Misery, there's a unusual guest. Do come in!"

"Thank you Mr…say, what is your name anyway?"

"Oh just call me Mr. Mumbles, everyone else does around here ."

"So you prefer to be called Mr. Mumbles." I paused. "Rather than…Dr. Valentiner?

He froze. I decided to continue:

"I know what you're thinking, Doctor: 'It could be a lucky guess. I may still be able to convince her she's wrong.' Well, actually, it's a _qualified _guess, Doctor, and it's going to take some effort to convince me I'm wrong."

I opened the book that I had brought along, opened it on a specific page and pointed at a symbol: A smiley face that was smiling on the right side and sulking angrily on the left side.

"Does this emblem look familiar, Doctor? I found it in a book that used to be in the O'Neill mansion's library. It's an old book, but then, you _are_ very old, aren't you Doctor?"

"So are you, ma'am."

"So you know what I am. And I know what you are. Good. Then you should know that you can trust my kind to be discreet about these things."

He merely nodded, and I continued:

"Judging from your indeterminable accent, Doctor, I'm guessing you've been around. According to this book, you also spent quite a few years in Ireland."

"I've had to relocate a few times in my carreer…"

"Often encouraged by locals with pitchforks and torches, perhaps?"

"I'll admit that I wasn't always asked _politely_ to leave."

"Yes, well, there are few places in this world where mad scientists are welcome. But Gloomsville is one of them."

"I prefer the term "_controversial _scientists", miss, but you're right. I was getting tired of being chased away everywhere I went, that's why I came to Gloomsville. Here, they were happy to have a mad - okay, I admit that's exactly the word the mayor was using - scientist."

"See, there's something I've been wondering about. Remember when we had the public showing of Frank and Len's documentary?"

"Ah, yes, I understand…"

"This will be between you and me, Doctor. Well, between you and me and my family chronicle really, but no mortal ever gets to read the chronicle. Your secret is safe with me. I won't even tell Mr. and Mrs. Hollister that I know."

"Richard and Alexandra Hollister…" he muttered. "Yes, they came to me…sixteen years ago. They had been trying to have children of their own for more than a decade. Now Mrs. Hollister was finally pregnant… with twins, even. But then the doctors told them… the children would be stillborn…"

He paused.

"They came to see me… they were desperate. They begged me to save their unborn sons, even if I had to use m - controversial science. How could I say no? I told them, yes I know of a way to save them that no ordinary doctor would try. Their individual bodies were too weak to survive. But they might survive if they were merged into one strong body, if I added extra muscle tissue and relocated their hearts and - well, I won't bother you with too many details. Anyway, I injected Mrs. Hollister with a fluid that would keep the newborn babies alive for a few days, just long enough to do the necessary operation. The rest is, as they say, history."

"Why did you add a tattoo? A tattoo resembling your old emblem, no less?"

He sighed. "Vanity. The operation was a success, and I was so proud of it… I wanted to put my signature on it somehow. And since I stopped using that emblem long before I came to Gloomsville… well, I thought nobody around here would recognize it. And up until this day, no one did."

"I see. But that wasn't the only signature you left on them, was it – Dr. _Frank Lennart Valentiner_?"

The Doctor shrugged. "That wasn't my idea. The Hollisters insisted on honouring me by naming their sons, possibly my greatest accomplishment, after me." He paused for a moment, then added: "I see you did your research very well. I never revealed my first and middle name to anyone in Gloomsville. Even in most of the villages where I used to live, I was known only as Dr. Valentiner."

"You consider Frank and Len to be possibly your greatest accomplishment?"

"Well, yes, I had managed to save two lives at once. Of course, they will always have to live as Siamese twins, but they seem to be happy. And I'll admit that during the process, some small parts of their brains might have taken damage, especially Lennart's, but…"

"Relax, Doctor, I didn't say I disagree with you. But please explain - If you consider Frank and Len to be one of your greatest accomplishments… why did you leave Gloomsville a few months after Frank and Len were born?"

Well for one thing, I had experimented on newborn children. And even if it was for a good cause, I still felt uncomfortable about having crossed a line like that."

"There's a line?"

"Yes, ma'am, even in my profession, there's a line. To the best of my knowledge, nobody had ever experimented on newborn babies before, and…and I didn't really know if it would work. The twins could have died."

"But that's exactly what would've happened anyway, if you didn't do anything!"

"True, but I wouldn't have felt responsible in the same way. You see, a few weeks after the operation I was beginning to have doubts. I wasn't _entirely_ certain that the replacement tissue would be able to grow and carry the weight of the twins as the rest of their body grew."

"So _that's_ why you. –"

"Exactly, I was afraid that the operation would turn out to be a failure in the long run. If all I had done was to postpone the twins' deaths by a few years, it would be as if the Hollisters had lost their children twice. In any case, I was too upset to go on with my business. So for the first time in my career, I left a town voluntarily."

He sighed.

"It wasn't until very recently that I dared to come back. You can probably imagine my relief when I saw what strong, fine men young Frank and Lennart had grown up to be. My experiment was a success after all! But by that time, I had foresworn controversial science forever. As you can see, I have dedicated my career to become the world's greatest amusement park engineer instead."

And so I let Dr. Frank Lennart Valentiner, a.k.a. Mr. Mumbles, have the final word. Other than that I promised him once more that I would never tell this to anyone but the chronicle, a book which is not for non-banshee eyes. And I'm keeping that promise, of course. None of my friends at the manor will get to read this, not even Frank and Len. They're better off not knowing. Nobody needs to know. Not me either, but I think someone should write this down for the future.

The truth should be preserved _some_where. It might as well be here.


	6. The Ghosts

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not Boo-Boo's origin story. Not as such. I was considering writing an origin story for him as well, but I decided there probably wasn't much interest. Boo-Boo is not that popular. However, since there are three ghosts in Ruby Gloom's supporting cast, I figured that at least they deserve some kind of background story. _

**Spooks.**

Unknown to most living humans, there are two main types of ghosts.

First, there's the Legacy Ghosts, sometimes referred to as Real Ghosts. These are spirits who remembers their past life, and knows (or at least suspects) that they have some unfulfilled business to take care of before they can pass on. This is the kind of ghosts that the living are usually thinking of when they think of the word "ghost".

The other, less familiar (but often encountered) type of ghosts are the Spooks, also known as blank ghosts. These are the spirits who, during their transition from living souls to spirits, simply lost their memory and therefore have very little idea (or none at all) of what they were in their past life. This happens more often than most living people are aware of. As such, the spooks cannot fulfill their destiny and take care of unfulfilled business. A spook, then, is left with no other purpose than simply to exist.

Many spooks decide that this isn't so bad. They can roam free with no burden of their past lives and, in theory, with no worries about the future. Spooks are held in deep contempt by legacy ghosts and many other members of the supernatural community, but the spooks themselves assume that this is only out of envy. Surely they would also prefer to be free of the past ties that bind them. Spooks, therefore, are typically happy and content. It should be added that the spooks themselves aren't too happy about being called 'Spooks'. They prefer being called 'blank ghosts' or simply 'ghosts', and that's the term they always use in between themselves.

Another interesting thing about spooks is how the lack of memories from their past lives changes their appearance. In the beginning, a spook always looks like a diffuse version of his or her recently deceased, physically self. But after being around for a while with no past identity, the spook's ectoplasm "body" gradually becomes less and less human-looking. In the end, a spook always end up looking like a white blob that only faintly resembles the human he or she once was. Another interesting thing about the spooks' change of appearance is the so-called Illusion of Aging Phenomenon (IAP), which means that a child who dies and becomes a spook will actually appear to _age_ into a grown-up ghost. This could take as long as it would take for a human child, or it could take several decades more. But it always happens eventually, because all child spooks believe, on a more or less subconscious level, that they ought to grow up. And since most child spooks have had time to mature before this process is finished, one might say that they are indeed growing up for real.

***

I was supposed to meet them at The Laban, a popular supernatural diner in Amity Park. In all honesty, I've been wondering why we blank ghosts are having so many meetings and arrangements in Amity Park. This is pretty much the capital city of the legacy ghost community, and everyone knows how much the legacy ghosts despise us. I guess we're doing out of spite. At least at The Laban, nobody asks what kind of ghost (or what kind of being, dead or alive) you are.

There were two of them, both of which were rather full-bodied and wearing sunglasses. The biggest one was named Mr. White, while the slightly smaller one… well, he was also named Mr. White. Not much of an imagination on those guys. Then again, I'm not one to judge, as I named my adoptive son Boo-Boo. And this was all about him.

Many blank ghosts choose a special image for themselves. Mr. White and Mr. White were pretending to be mobsters. Of course, for all I know, they might have been just that when they were alive, and their current behavior was a subconscious reflection of this. Either that, or they'd just seen a lot of movies. The biggest one, who wore a tie and a hat, had even ordered a plate of spaghetti Bolognese, and was eating heartily, if redundantly. I thought he looked ridiculous. They both did. However, the Mr. Whites were important guys in the blank ghost community. I knew I had to treat them with the proper respect.

"Gentlemen", I said and bowed ever so slightly. "Mr. White and Mr. White, I presume?"

"Yes indeed", the smaller Mr. White began, the one with hair and a gold tooth, began "and may I say it's an honor doing business with you, mister – "

"Thanks, Mr. White I'll take it from here." The bigger Mr. White butted in. "May I say it's an honor doing business with you, sir." He handed me a thick catalogue. "I take it you've made a choice regarding your son's first training location?"

I never much cared for the idea that blank ghosts should spend their afterlives scaring, or trying to scare people. Whatever do we get out of it? It seems rather pointless, and just because we have a lot of time to waste, that doesn't mean that we should have to waste it. I remember I was at when at Boo-Boo's age… or should I say, in his situation, I used to rebel against it, and I still do, really. But it's difficult to change the system. From the moment I first found Boo-Boo and decided to adopt him, and I swore I would never put any pressure on him to go into this silly scaring and haunting business. But eventually, he wanted this himself, so what could I do? What any good ghost dad would do - I contacted "The Family", as they call themselves – the cartel responsible for locating novice ghosts at convenient haunting grounds.

"I have. This one" I replied, pointing at a picture of a weary, but still attractive Victorian mansion.

The two Mr. Whites looked at each other, then at me.

The biggest Mr. White scratched his chin. After a quiet pause, he asked me.

"The Gloomsville mansion? You shore about that?"

"Quite sure. Why, is there a problem?"

"What Mr. White is trying to say", the smaller Mr. White commented "Is that the Gloomsville mansion is a difficult place for a novice to start."

"Difficult place? It says here in your catalogue that most of the mansion's tenants are children."

"Yeah, but them ain't no ordinary kids.", the bigger Mr. White said. "That place is a regular haunted house as it is. They've got a livin' skeleton, an ogress – a _small_ ogress, but she's rumored to be a real daredevil, not easily intimidated – a hag… "

"A hag?"

"Oh wait, they prefer to be called banshees nowadays, I think. Anyway, all of them dames have seen far scarier things than a kid ghost can conjure up. Then there's this two-headed teen who's just too dim-witted to be properly scared…"

"It says here the mansion is run by a little girl who is completely human", I pointed out.

"Actually, she might be the most difficult one of them all.", the smaller Mr. White commented. Apparently, Miss Ruby doesn't find anything too scary. That's why she's been surrounding herself with these creatures in the first place. Stuff that other people think is dark an' scary – she thinks it's _cozy_. She might end up treating your son like just another house guest."

The biggest Mr. White took a sip of red wine which, of course, went right through him. Then he said:

"In conclusion, sir, the people on that mansion might be too jaded to actually be a-scared o' your son."

"Good."

"Huh?"

"It'll be a challenge for him, then. He needs that. You see, gentlemen, Boo-Boo is a bit of a problem child. He loves all sorts of silly pranks and antics. It'll do him good if he's being forced to take something seriously for once."

Both Mr. Whites grinned.

"Tough love, eh?", said the smaller one.

"I like.", said the bigger one

"Yes, don't cut him any slack. Get on his case as often as you can. Threaten him with _group threapy_, if you must."

The bigger Mr. White rubbed his hands and grinned even wider.

"Sir, if I still had my heart, you'd be a man after it."

I shrugged "Just do what it takes. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Of course, Boo-Boo's gonna have to start from scratch, which means that people won't even be able to see him before he's caused his first genuine scare. Except for cats and psychics, of course."

"Are there any of those at the mansion?

" There's a cat. An' that usually makes things a little more interestin'."

"Sounds promising. Anyway, I'll leave the details to you. Thank you for your help, gentlemen."

"No prob. Like I said, it's an honor doin' business with you, Mr. Casper."

* * *

This is probably my weakest story so far, but I really wanted to present my theory on why, in cartoons, some ghosts look like transparent people, while others look like sacks of flour. Besides, I needed a filler story while I'm planning my Poe and Ruby story. That's right, I'm writing a combined origin story for Poe and Ruby, and it's up next!

For the record, I'm not a fan of Casper – in fact, I'm not sure if I've even seen any of his old cartoons – but Boo-Boo apparently remind many people of Casper, so I thought it would be fun to create a connection between them. Danny Phantom fans probably also noticed the little reference to yet another cartoon.

Ruby Gloom characters are © Mighty Fine / Nelvana  
Casper is © Harvey Entertainment  
Amity Park is © Nickelodeon


	7. Poe

**Quoth The Crow**

I was sitting in my study one evening, working on act three of my play in verse, "In Dubious Grace", when my concentration was broken and my attention was directed towards other, more trivial things by a pleasant voice that I knew very well:

"Ahem, excuse me gospodin Poe?"

The voice belonged to a graceful, silver-haired woman in her late fifties (or possibly early sixties, but as a gentleman I choose to believe it's the former), by the name of Alexandra Hollister.

"Am I interrupting, anything?"

"Nothing that cannot be interrupted, my dear", I replied graciously. "What can I do for you on this lovely evening?"

Mrs. Hollister pulled out a small envelope form her blouse. "Once again, it is I who need to do something for you, … I spoke with my sons last evening, and it appears they have forgotten to pay the rent on time… again."

She handed me the envelope with a bunch of bills in it, and I counted them quickly.  
"That would be correct, Madame, thank you."

"Again, I am sorry for this." She commented. "It must be a little frustrating. Frank and Len are good boys, and we're very proud of them for getting a career in the family business, so to speak, at such a young age. But I know how absent-minded they can be."

"Ah well, they're not always so forgetful, Madame. Why, I do recall that the boys remembered to pay on time no more than three months ago. Well, at least Frank did, and of course, one of them is enough. The important thing is that we get the money _eventually_."

"You are most gracious, gospodin. Also, while I'm already apologizing – I want to say I'm sorry for my relatives bothering you last week."

"Pardon?", I said, somewhat confused.

"My relatives from the old country. My cousin twice removed Gennadija and her son Sergei." The Russian-born Mrs. Hollister explained. "They came to visit the mansion last week, and as I found out later, they were trying to pose as young Skullboy's long lost family."

"Oh, Ma and Skullroy! Yes, I remember them, of course. Well think nothing of it, Mrs. Hollister."

"You are too kind, Poe. I was very embarrassed when I found out what they were up to. They had been only been with us for three days, and our sons had yet to meet them."

"So then there _was_ a family reunion taking place at the mansion that day. Only it wasn't Skullboy's distant relatives, but rather Frank and Len's." I cheerfully commented.

"I'm glad you can see the humor in this, gospodin Poe. In any case, I know I should've been more suspicious, especially when Gennadija asked me if I had described her to Frank and Len, and when she started talking to Sergei about some "great reward". But I was just happy to get them out of the house for a little while, really. You see, my cousin twice removed makes this stew…"

"Say no more, Mrs. Hollister." I responded, getting a heartburn just from the thought of "Ma's" infamous cooking. "I understand you so very well."

"So you don't want to press charges? My husband is willing to let them off with a warning if…"

"We won't press any charges, ma'am" I assured her. "Unless making bad stew has been outlawed"

Mrs. Hollister snickered, then peeked down at my desk. "Anyway, I see that you are still working on your play. I won't be keeping you for long, then. However, Mrs. Orpington-Smythe would like to know if you will be attending the Gloomsville Society's monthly book club meeting next Wednesday."

"Tell Mrs. Orpington-Smythe from me that I shall most certainly attend, come rain or shine, next Wednesday." I declared with a smile.

"Be seeing you then. Thank you for your time, gospodin."

I picked up an oversized book from the shelves behind my desk, opened it on a page that was marked with the current year and month and wrote "rent paid" next to Frank and Len's names.

The Gloomsville Mansion may seem like a charity, a place where any homeless wanderer is free to drop by for a lengthy visit. An open house, so to speak. But the truth is, its habitants are paying for themselves. The mansion welcomes visitors and tenants, not freeloaders.

Iris' rent is paid by something called The Center's Relocation Funds. I've heard many fascinating stories about an organization called The Center, but unfortunately, none of them are verifiable. On several occasions, I have taken the liberty of asking Iris for more information about the Center, something which invariably causes her to hastily change the subject. Iris, who is usually enthusiastic and talkative about everything, is surprisingly reluctant whenever I ask her questions about her background. The only thing she wants to let on, is that she comes from an island named Haven. All my attempts of finding out where Haven is, or how the Center is involved, have been in vain so far. But I'll say one thing for the people at the Center: They always pay on time.

Scardey Bat's rent is paid by the Indian welfare budget through one Dr. Sharoukh Singh, a distinguished Indian gentleman whom I had the pleasure of meeting and conversing with a few years back. Granted, the amount I get from the good doctor is less than the others are paying, but then, Scardey is also costing us less than the others. He takes up less space and hardly wears any clothes. And being an insectivore by nature, he can usually get his own food. Except in the winter, when he buys imported mosquitoes.

Misery's rent is paid by her mother in California, one Lady Migraine Jean Glumchester (I know Misery well enough not to be surprised that her mother would be named Migraine). And the interesting thing about Lady Migraine is that she always pays exactly twice as much as I ask for. I was of course quick to write her a polite letter and point this out when I received the first check. She wrote back to me and explained that the rest of the money was payment for the damage accidentally caused by her daughter. Of course, I was not the least bit surprised to learn that Lady Migraine already knew about these damages. Misery talks a lot about her family, and it would seem that they are all cursed with persistently bad luck. Even so, the total cost of Misery's damages to the house per month is still less than the extra amount Lady Migraine pays per month. I also tried to tell her this, but she explained that rather than having me calculating exactly how much the damages cost and then billing her, it was surely much easier for the both of us if she paid a given amount per month. After that, I decided not to press the issue further. When people offer you more money than you need, even after you've told them that you don't need it, it is perfectly legitimate to accept it. Still, it must be nice being so rich that you can pay more than you need to simply because it's easier that way. And the banshees are rich, I have heard. Apparently, they've saved up several millions in gold over the centuries. The banshee family's bad luck, notorious though it may be, seems to be limited to freak accidents. They are not unlucky in business. At least I hope this is true, for Misery is a good friend to us all, and there may come a day when a good friend from a rich family will be very useful to us.

This sounds very cynical, I know, but as the administrator of this mansion, I have to be practical, and even a bit calculating at times. I need to know who we can ask for help in a time of crisis.

Ruby, of course, would never think like that. In fact, she specifically told me that she doesn't want to know how much her friends pay to live in the mansion, or whether they are paying on time or not. If she knew any of these things, it might affect the way she looks at them. However, she understands that the people who come to live here have to pay for their stay, to the best of their abilities.

She understands this, because it says so in the testament.

***

EXCERPT FROM POE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY "OUT OF THE NEST"

_(still looking for a publisher)_

There are two days in my life that I shall most certainly never forget. Well, actually, there are many days in my life that I'm quite confident I will never forget. For instance, the day when my mother kicked me out of the nest, so I would be forced to learn how to fly, is way too important to ever forget. Likewise is the day when my brothers and I asked for shelter and employment at the Gloom family's estate (well, _I_ did the asking, really). But that's not what I'm talking about right now. No, there are two other days that are particularly etched on my mind.  
One is the terrible morning roughly ten years ago, when I learned what cruel fate had befallen Tristan Gloom and his lovely young wife, Lenore.

The other one is the day that took place two weeks _after_ this, when the sheriff of Gloomsville called me to his office. I arrived outside his door at 10 a.m sharp, never fearing anything. I knew that I was (and still am) a model citizen, and that whatever our distinguished sheriff, Mr. Richard Hollister, wanted to talk to me about, it could not possibly be any crime that I was suspected of being guilty of. In this, I was correct. But little did I know then, that the matter he wanted to discuss with me were the questions that had been on every Gloomsville citizen's mind for the last two weeks: What was to become of the house, and above all, what was to become Tristan's only heir, poor little Ruby?

The sheriff began by providing me with answers to the first, and as it turned out, the easiest, question:

"You were very close to the Gloom family, weren't you?

"I'd like to think that I still _am_ close, your honor, even though there isn't much of a family to talk of any more. They took me and my brothers in when we came to Gloomsville as young crows. They allowed us to build a rather sophisticated nest in their gardens, they gave me full access to the mansion's massive library and allowed me to borrow whatever I needed for my studies, my art or even my entertainment. Not just books, but also tools, stationary or scientific equipment. Indeed, they allowed me and my brothers pretty much to roam free in the mansion. So yes, I would like to think that we were, and are, close!"

"Good to hear" the sheriff nodded. "And it's especially good to hear that you seem to know the mansion so well. Because as from of now on, you are its leaseholder."

"Come again?"

"It says so right here in the testament", the sheriff explained, picking up one of the papers. "In the case of our untimely departure, the house and its surroundings will be managed by our good friend Poe the Crow, until the time when our daughter Ruby reaches her age of majority" he read.

"But that won't be for another eighteen years!", I exclaimed.

Hollister shrugged "Well, you've got something to keep you busy for the next eighteen years, then. I'll leave the attorney to explain the details, but he assures me that you'll receive a generous salary for this. Then, when Miss Ruby comes of age, you'll receive a generous pension. Basically, your whole future is made out for you, old friend."

"But I don't want to have my whole future made out for me! I'm not an administrator, I'm an _artist!_"

Sheriff Hollister gave me a resigned look. "Well so am I, old friend", he said and sighed. "So am I. For years, I thought I could make a living of my music. But reality caught up with me, and here I am, stuck in a dead-end job as the sheriff of a town with hardly any crime."

That was true; Richard Hollister used to be great musician. I would never forget witnessing his brilliant fingers working the banjo at the very first Gloomapalooza, and nobody will forget how he played and sang his heart out to impress a Russian girl, a balalaika player who was making a guest appearance at the Gloomsville folk music festival seventeen years ago. At least that story had a happy ending. That Russian girl, Alexandra, is still amongst us today, and she is Mrs. Hollister. Richard still plays at town hall's annual Christmas party, and sometimes at summer festivals. But he can't make a living out of it anymore. So indeed, I think he knew how I felt.

"Yes, point taken", I muttered, and then added with more determination: "Either way, I am not going to refuse Lord Tristan's will - his last words, so to speak. The house needs me, and Ruby needs me!"

There was a moment of uneasy silence while I thought over what I'd just said.  
"Or does she?", I asked the sheriff with more uncertainty. "Your hon… Richard, what will become of Miss Ruby now?"

But that's another story, which deserves a chapter of its own.

* * *

_A/N: This was supposed to be the origin story of Poe AND Ruby. The idea was that their backgro__und stories are tightly interwoven, and it still is. However, I found myself adding a lot of extra stuff to this story, and in the end, I decided to split it in two. This part of the story is mostly about Poe, the next one will be mostly about Ruby, with Doom Kitty's origin story as a bonus._

_As you have noticed, this isn't purely an origin story, either. After creating Richard and Alexandra Hollister, Frank and Len's parents, I decided I wanted to give them some more screen time. Thankfully, I found a way of making them a part both of Poe's present and past._


	8. Ruby

**Chapter Eight: The Happiest Girl In The World**

EXCERPT FROM POE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY "OUT OF THE NEST"

_(Publishing rights are for sale. Preferably for money)_

Later that same day, I spoke with the Gloom family's lawyer. He mostly told me the same thing that sheriff Hollister had just told me, only using more and bigger words. However, he also gave me that one, vital piece of information that the sheriff wasn't at liberty to do.

"Do you remember one lady by the name of Jane Arthur?"

"Yes, that would be the late Lenore's esteemed mother. I met her briefly at Tristan and Lenore's wedding, and as the toastmaster I made it my duty to chat with all the guests. I remember her as an essentially open-minded woman, although the surroundings seemed to make her nervous. I doubt if she had ever been to Gloomsville before attending to her daughter's wedding, and I'm not certain if she has ever been here since, either."

"Well, she is coming back now", the lawyer assured me. "As Miss Ruby's closest living relative, Mrs. Arthur has agreed to move here in order to take care of her granddaughter."

"That is splendid news!" I exclaimed "I, and indeed, the whole of the town, were worried that the only living heir from our town's founding family would have to move out of Gloomsville to be with her legal guardian".

The lawyer nodded. "That is probably correct. As a native to this town, I know it has been worrying me as well. But of course, Mr. Poe, you realize this gives you a very heavy responsibility."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"As the newly appointed caretaker of the Gloomsville mansion, it will be your job to give Mrs. Arthur guidance and make certain that she becomes familiar with the surroundings. But above all, you have to make her feel at home here. After all, she is an out of-towner – in a sense, she not much more than a visitor. And you know how some visitors feel about our fair town. It's being said that Gloomsville takes an - ahem - acquired taste. If she's beginning to feel nervous and uncomfortable, she might want to move away…and take little Ruby with her. And if she decides to do that, we might not be able to legally stop her. You must convince Jane Arthur that not only is Gloomsville the best place for Ruby Gloom to grow up, but also that it'll make a good home for Jane Arthur.

I nodded, while trying to suppress a gulp.

***

I greeted Mrs. Arthur at the train station a little less than a week later. She was as I remembered her: A rather large and stoic-looking woman in her fifties. Her nervous, fluttering look was contrasting her seemingly calm, self-confidant pose. Her hair was blonde, like her daughter's, but turning slightly grey, and she wore a dark overcoat. Being a widow, she came alone (actually, I've never asked if she really was a widow; I just assumed it. In any case, Lady Lenore's father was nowhere to be seen, and as I gentleman, I don't ask).

On the way to the estate, I kept on chatting, mostly because I wanted to avoid awkward silence this early in our newfound companionship. Mrs. Arthur didn't say much, though, and she certainly wasn't very cheerful company. But that was to be expected. After all, it was only a few weeks ago that she had lost her own daughter.

As she entered the great hall, she shook her head. "It's funny, I was here a few years ago and looked around everywhere, but back then, I didn't notice how _big_ this place is.", she commented.

"Ah, that is probably because back then, there were people everywhere in he mansion, ma'am. Anyway, don't worry about maintenance; we have cleaning staff coming by once a week."

"That's not what worries me. I was thinking that it's going to get lonely with just the three of us in this big house…"

"Well, we probably _could_ take better advantage of all this space. I have already been considering renting out some of the rooms. That said, we are not as alone in here as you might think. My two brothers Edgar and Allan are here as well, although I'll be the first one to admit that are not very sociable. And there's little another fellow you'll be seeing a lot."

Mrs. Arthur opened her mouth, probably to ask me who this little fellow was, that I was referring to. But she never got around to asking the actual question, as she was distracted by the sight of a life-sized clay sculpture of Tristan and Lenore.

"Skull Boy?"

The little boy who answered to that name popped up from behind the sculpture, startling Mrs. Arthur.

"Isn' it gweat, Poe? I think I may be related a long line of sculptors! Oh sowwy, I didn't know we had guests."

"This, Skull Boy, is Mrs. Arthur, Ruby's grandmother. And she's going to be so much more than a guest. She's going to be staying with us from now on."

"Oh. I'm so sowwy, ma'am, I fo'got my manners." He bowed. "Welcome to the house, Ruby's gramma."

Ms. Arthur looked at him nervously. "Uh, thank you… Skull Boy…that's his actual name?"

"Well, it started out as a nickname", I explained. "And we've been meaning to give him a more proper name, but…"

"I can wait. I can get my weal name when I find my weal family.", the little boy explained confidently.

"Yes, that's what he always say", I explained to Mrs. Arthur. "So we've decided that why not, we shouldn't pressure him into taking another name if he's not ready –"

"Mr. Poe", Mrs. Arthur said with a low, hissing voice. "Could we please go somewhere and talk privately for a moment?"

"Why, of course, ma'am." I replied, somewhat puzzled. "Skull Boy, will you excuse us for a moment…"  
To my embarrassment, I must admit that I didn't understand what was troubling Mrs. Arthur at that moment.

"That -", she muttered, "- was a skeleton!"

I shrugged. "Yes, obviously."

"A skeleton that walks and talks!", she continued, even more startled than before.

I finally took the hint. Mrs. Arthur had probably never seen living skeletons before. I had mistakenly assumed that the sight of one wouldn't upset her as much as it actually did. After all, she hadn't acted anywhere near as surprised the first time she met me. Although in fairness, living skeletons probably are a rarer breed than anthropomorphs.

At this moment, I remembered the attorney's warning, and I realized that it was important to reassure Mrs. Arthur as soon as possible.

"Living skeletons are a breed of their own, ma'am. However, they are rather rare, although guess they are more commonplace in Gloomsville than most other places, but let me assure you that they are friendly and completely harmless."

Mrs. Arthur squinted. "Okay, I guess I can get used to that idea. But what is that… that… _boy_ doing in here, anyway.

"Actually, Lord and Lady Gloom sort of… adopted him."

"Adopted him.", she repeated flatly.

"Yes, which - " I was about to point out that legally, Skull Boy was the Gloom family's ward, which meant that Skull Boy was now Mrs. Arthur's ward, but it occurred to me that it was probably too early to remind her of this.  
"- Yes, but he mostly takes care of himself. He's a very resourceful child."

"But where does he come from?"

"From a basket."

"Say what?"

"No, really. As clichéd as it might sound, Skull Boy was left on the doorstep of this house back when he was just a baby. Sadly, we have no idea who his real family is."

"A baby? But he's a toddler now!"

"Yes, he's been here for more than three years."

"But he's a skeleton! Are you telling me he _ages_?"

I sighed, as I really had been hoping that this one question wasn't going to come up until later. "Yes, ma'am living skeletons do age." I bowed my head, and told her the truth, for what it was worth: "But to be perfectly honest with you, I don't know how, I just accept that they _do_."

Mrs. Arthur did not seem satisfied with that answer, which was understandable. But what could I do? Just because I'm from Gloomsville, that doesn't mean I can explain everything that is supernatural. Clearly, this was the right time to distract her attention, and what could distract a grandmother better than to see her grandchild for the first time?

"Let's go and say hello to little Ruby, shall we?" I said to her pointing at the nursery.

Ruby was asleep.  
Mrs. Arthur picked her up, as carefully as she possibly could. The peaceful, happy smile on her sleeping face was enough to melt a devil's heart. It certainly was enough to make me shed a tear, and to make Mrs. Arthur shed several. For a while, we just stood there in the nursery, looking at the sleeping Ruby. "Except for the red hair, she looks so much like her mother at that age", she whispered, and sniffed some more. Then she put Ruby back into the cradle.

"It's strange to think of this Mr. Poe," she reflected, "This girl has just experienced one of the most tragic things that could happen to a human being, and certainly the most tragic thing that could happen to a child." She rocked the Ruby slowly and carefully. "Ye she doesn't know, and it's going to take a long while before she realizes it." She could have been the most miserable girl in the world, but right now, she looks like the happiest girl in the world."

"The happiest girl in the world." - Yes, that is where the expression came from. Rather often, the quote has mistakenly been credited to me, since I began using it when speaking to the townspeople. From there on, it spread and it stuck. But it originally came from Mrs. Arthur, not from me.

The reason why it spread and stuck is, of course, that it has remained true. As far as anyone in Gloomsville knows, Ruby really is the happiest girl in the world. She has her problems, but she takes everything in a stride. "Look on the bright side" is her first response to almost any bad situation, and just to cover all he bases, she adds: "Unless the dark side is you bright side; that's okay, too!" And the amazing thing is that she is able to say this in such a tone of voice that people around her doesn't thinks it's a pathetic thing to say. Instead they tend to agree with her that yes, _let's_ look on the bright side, difficult though it may be.

Especially thirteen months ago, when Ruby and Mrs. Arthur asked me kindly to meet them in the living room one evening. At this time, we were in the process of filling the mansion with people; Iris had moved in a few months ago, and it was only a fortnight since Frank and Len had responded to the ad from the newspaper. The Centre had sent me a letter asking if it was potentially possible for us to accommodate a banshee, and in his most recent letter, my Indian friend Dr. Sharouhk Singh kept making hints about one of his regular patients. Also, I had just received a note from an old Bavarian acquaintance I met at the Gloomapalooza once. She was asking if her stepchildren, Uta and Gunther, could stay here on vacation because, as she said, they were "too high strung" and needed to "lighten up". That last project was less than successful, but that's another story.

In any case, there was still plenty of space to spare. And yet the jaw-dropping message Ruby gave to me was:

"Grandma wants to go for a journey, around the world."

"_What?_ But Miss Ruby, we cannot manage without you! You are such a great hostess, and we get more company every day."

"First of all, Poe, how many times do I have to tell you to give up on that "Miss"? It's Ruby to you, just Ruby. Second, I said grandma is going on a journey around the world, not me! I'm going to stay right here."

Needless to say, I was not _completely_ relieved by this explanation, either.

"Wha…Mrs. Arthur! You're Miss Ruby's legal guardian! You can't just leave her like this."

"It's Ruby to you." Mrs. Arthur said, repeating her granddaughter. "And believe me, I would never leave her, even for a day, if we both weren't entirely convinced that she would be in safe hands while I'm gone… or wings"

The room fell silent for a moment.

"Will you do it, Poe? Will you be Ruby's legal guardian in my place?"

I suppose I could but…I mean that's not really the main issue here. Mrs. Arthur, Ruby is still a child. How can you leave her now, even if it's only temporary? Surely you can travel the world when Ruby comes of age. Why do you suddenly want to do it now?

"It's not a sudden decision Poe, believe me. I've been thinking about this for a while. The thing is, I've never seen much of the world. When I went to Gloomsville for the first time, it was as far as I had ever travelled in my entire life! But now that I've been living in Gloomsville for a decade, I've seen so many wondrous and exciting things. So I'm thinking of how much more there must be in the rest of the world. I'm getting old, Poe, and my gene pool is not very impressive. My grandmother died at the age of sixty-eight, and my mother died at the age of sixty-one. I may not have that much time."

I took a quick peek at young Ruby, but she looked completely unfazed by the information that women of her family didn't live very long. Instead, she just smiled and said:

"It's okay with me, Poe. Grandma and I have been talking about it for a long time. The real question is, is it okay with you? Do you think ready for that kind of responsibility?"

She looked deeply into my eyes, and added, with sincerity in her voice: "Because I think you are."

***

Like I said, it's been thirteen months – our agreement was eighteen months, and there's nothing to suggest that Mrs. Arthur won't stick to it. We receive a postcard from her every week, at which point we always gather around to hear Ruby read it out loud. According to the most recent one, she's staying at a forest temple in Japan, where she had just spent a few relaxing days. In fact, it was Misery who directed her attention to it, after getting a tip from her cousin (as Misery calls all of her relatives) Mildew. But I suppose it's safe, really. First of all, her cousin is not staying there at the moment. Second, that nearby active volcano erupted just two months ago (apparently, Mildew got a little too close, but Misery says she's feeling much better now), and it's statistically unlikely that it will be erupting again that soon.

Meanwhile, I still work at my art while maintaining the house. To tell the truth, I'm still not selling much of my writings, but that's hardly something I can blame on my day job. Indeed, my leaseholder job is getting increasingly easier, leaving me more time to work on my writing.

For the moment, I am Ruby's legal guardian, but that doesn't mean very much. It's been years since I tried to act like a real authority figure. It just doesn't feel natural, not even in Mrs. Arthur's absence. Ruby makes everyone feel like they are close friends of her; she simply has that effect on people. I will never become a father figure to Ruby, but I have become something which, in my opinion, is more valuable.

I have become a friend.

* * *

_I finally finished Ruby's origin story, several weeks after I finished the main bulk of it. Although now, it's probably Skull Boy's and Poe's origin story just as much as it's Ruby's._

_Although I didn't plan it that way to begin with, this is turning into a trilogy where Poe tells the origins of various characters through excerpts from his autobiography. The last part of that trilogy will be Doom Kitty's origin story, which is already well underway._

_Finally, a shameless plug: If you already haven't, please tell me what you think of my Misery one-shot "The Seventh Sense", which I wrote in between this chapter and the previous one (the link is available on my page, and on the Ruby Gloom fanfic list)_


	9. Doom Kitty

**Secret Origins, Chapter Ten: The Best of Both Worlds**

EXCERPT FROM POE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY "OUT OF THE NEST"

_(No publisher yet. Any takers?)_

***

I have a difficult relationship with my mother.

I wouldn't say I hate her, far from it! And I'd like to believe that she doesn't hate me either. But it's obvious that she's somewhat disappointed with me. And the sad thing is that she appears to have a rather petty reason (in my honest opinion) for being disappointed with me.

That being that I'm not an ordinary crow. I discovered very early in my life that I had the gift of speech, and I used it often. I thought my mother would be proud. How was I supposed to know that she would consider me a freak?

It wasn't until many years after I left the nest that I realized I was an anthro hybrid, a cross between an ordinary crow and an anthropomorphic one. My mother clearly belongs in the former category, which means I must be taking after my father, whoever he is. Unfortunately, I've never met him, and I've never been able to find out who he is (or was) despite the best of my efforts.

But whoever he was, I can only assume that my mother never remembered him fondly, considering how she treated her sons. My brothers got away easily at first, mostly because they never talked. To his day, I'm still not certain if they have never had the ability to talk, or if they just avoided learning it in order to please my mother. In any case, it wasn't good enough in the long run. Their anthro nature betrayed them in other ways, and from the moment they began wearing clothes, my mother shunned them as much as she did me. Nobody wants their parents to be disappointed in them, but it's just too difficult to deny one's true nature. I am a full-blooded crow, yet I am also a hybrid. It's a very peculiar condition.

Which is why I've always sympathized deeply with Ruby's cat, even if I don't always make it very clear.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. This all started about six years ago, on a late afternoon. Ruby and I were strolling along the lake when Ruby asked, with the typical innocence of a six-year old:

"Poe, what's that thing floating in the water?"

"What thing?" I asked, not having been as observant as young Ruby.

She pointed.

"It looks like a sack", I said absent-mindedly, looking in the direction where Ruby was pointing. Then a terrible suspicion suddenly hit me.

"A sack? Oh no…"

"What?"

"It's probably nothing" I told her as unconvinced as I flew out into the lake. I was afraid it was probably _something_, but there was no time for a lengthy explanation.

The bag was heavy, but my talons somehow managed to carry onto land. "Oh dear, oh dear…" I muttered as I put the bag down as gently as I possibly could. Ruby opened it hurriedly.

I despair at humans sometimes, I really do. Would they drown their own children just because there were so many of them? Of course not! But to drown kittens just because there are many of them is considered perfectly acceptable.

There were four of them. Ruby didn't cry. She just looked at them for a long while, as if that would somehow bring them back to life.

And then it did, sort of. The smallest kitten, an all-black one with a large head, began to move. For a while, neither I nor Ruby said anything. We just looked at it struggling to get dry. Then it raised its head, finally noticing it had company. Ruby smiled.

"Do you think she'll make it, Poe?" she asked me. I don't know if she only guessed that the kitten was a female, or if she instinctively knew.

"The creature looks pretty healthy to me, Miss Ruby.", I approved "under the circumstances, anyway."

"A black cat is just the thing the mansion need. We should adopt her!" Ruby said enthusiastically, and hugged the kitten. "Can't we, Poe? We got plenty of room."

"If it's okay with your grandmother, it's okay with me." I replied. We both knew that meant 'Yes'.

"Oh thank you!", she said, hugging the kitten again. The little creature looked awkward, but not at all uncomfortable with all this attention. She held it up and looked it in the remarkably large eyes. "Kitty, because you survived a drowning, I'll call you… Lucky!"

In response to this, I coughed so loudly that it was impossible for Ruby not to understand that I wanted to tell her something.

"Is something the matter, Poe?"

"Well it's just that… phrases like "Good luck!" and names like "Lucky" tend to bring… bad luck.

Ruby scratched her head.

"So it's just like talking about good luck brings you bad luck?"

"That's right."

Perhaps it was a bit inappropriate to fill an impressionable young mind like Ruby's with such superstition, but hey, this is Gloomsville – We are _supposed_ to be superstitious here.

Ruby looked at the confused kitten, then at me.

"But if you talk about _bad_ luck…"

"That leads to good luck. For instance, when actors go on stage, they say to each other: 'Break a leg!', because that means _good_ luck." I explained.

"Well, that's easy then", Ruby muttered as she picked up the kitten and held it up with both hands. "I'll just have to think of the worst kind of bad luck someone can have… Disaster? Catastrophe? Something that sounds like doom… Hey, that's it! Doom! She looked enthusiastically at the kitten. "We'll call you _Doom_, kitty!

***

Much is still uncertain about Doom Kitty's background, but a couple of things became clear to me pretty soon. Doom is not, as first I assumed, an ordinary black cat. Like me, she is an anthro hybrid. While she clearly can't talk, it is obvious that she understands everything we tell her, and she has developed a clever mimicking technique to make herself understood - Perhaps _too_ clever; Most of the time, Ruby is the only one of us who has any chance of understanding it.

But anyway, her father might have been a well known anthro cat vagrant (he shall remain nameless, as I have no proof that he's the real father) who had been observed in the Gloomsville area four months [1] before we found Doom and her three less fortunate siblings in the lake. I don't know who her mother is, but must assume that it is (or was?) and ordinary domestic cat, as I refuse to believe that an anthropomorphic feline mother would be helpless to stop her children from being drowned by inconsiderate humans.

Most anthro cats I have met are sociable, but whimsical and cheeky. Most normal cats I have met are elegant and beautiful, but lazy an introverted. Doom, on the other hand, has the elegance and beauty of a normal cat and the social intelligence of an anthro cat. Like me, she is the best of both worlds. And also like me, all she needed was a human who could appreciate this.

* * *

**[1] **_A normal cat's pregnancy lasts for roughly two months. So I figure a part anthro kitty litter would take about twice as long to get born. _

And that concludes Doom Kitty's story, which, I'll admit, is a little shorter and simpler than the rest. Now the only one left is Skull Boy. I'm still considering a few different explanations and leads, but I'll get to him.

In the meantime, I'd still like to write a story about Misery's visit to her relatives during "Sunny Daze". What do you think? What would you like to see next?


	10. Skull Boy

**A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE **

* * *

_(Here it is at last – Skull Boy's origin story, such as it is. I hope you don't mind if I make it a crossover story; I needed a context to put the story in, and I'm quite happy with this one. Chances are that a few of you know these other shows I'm referring to anyway – maybe you even know them well – and the rest of you don't really need to get the references to understand the story - See notes below) _

_

* * *

  
_

"The Calacas, also known as animated skeletons, or so-called living skeletons, are a breed of living dead reminiscent of spooks", Professor Archibald Oxford began. "The name "calacas" is Mexican Spanish, and comes from Mexico's tradition of portraying animated skeletons in popular art. Basically, they are souls who, for reasons unknown, cannot leave their bodies."

"Like thinking zombies", a boy on the front row suggested.

"Very much like thinking zombies, with the obvious difference that their bodies have decomposed. A soul who resurfaces as a calaca will, just like a spook, wander around aimlessly for a while until it is taken in by a community of peers."

Morose, who was standing just outside the classroom door, nodded approvingly.

"Like spooks, calacas will often be affected by the Illusion of Aging Phenomenon, meaning that a calaca who started out as a child skeleton can grown into an adult one –"

"How does that work?", a girl in the classroom asked.

"The exact nature of the calacas is still unclear."

"In other words, you have no idea.", one boy snidely suggested.

"Stoker..."

"It's okay, he does have a point. We cannot explain exactly how-"

Morose moved onwards through the ancient, distinguished halls of the old school. Halfway up a staircase, she encountered a noble-looking vampire lady dressed entirely in white.

"Lady Kryptina", Morose greeted her.

"Lady Morose", the vampire responded with impeccable formality. "The Count may see you in the lounge now."

"Very well" Morose answered in the same tone of voice, "I shall see myself upstairs.", she continued, trying to pass Lady Kryptina.

The two women engaged in a brief and wordless battle of wills, as the white-clad woman was clearly very insistent on escorting the house-guest to the lounge. Morose, who was the less patient one, eventually let her.

In the lounge, a short table was set for two. There were not plates, but two goblets and a bottle which Morose walked up to and studied closer:

"Chateau Lafitte 1787. Good choice", she said, seemingly to the empty shadows.

"Why thank you, Madame", the shadows replied, and a tall figured stepped out.

The distinguished Count Alarich Von Horrificus had an appearance so majestic and elegant, and yet so terrifying that it would've filled almost anyone with awe. Morose was an exception from this rule; as she was used to such appearances. At family gatherings, Morose would not come across as the most level-headed member of the party. But a vampire castle was a different matter. She had grown up in a vampire castle, and found vampires much easier to deal with than her own kind. Besides, any banshee could feel safe in the company of vampires. They were more aware than most people of the potentially very dire consequences of upsetting, let alone threatening a banshee.

"I know a bit about the finer things in li…existence." The Count continued. "And I sometimes drink....wine."

Morose acknowledged that she might have found that last line funny if she was a mortal. And if she had a sense of humor.

They both sat down, and the Count poured the wine.

"Again, Madame, I must thank you for agreeing to give a guest lecture on the history of Baron Malevolencour's reign."

"No problem, I was there when it happened, after all."

"Also, I apologize if I kept you waiting."

"Think nothing of it, Count. You gave me enough time to make some interesting observations. I noticed you've included sociology in your curriculum…"

"Yes, we are not completely isolationist, Madame. Your granddaughters would be welcome here."

"What, as token non-vampires? No offence, Count, but no thank you. My family has decided to enrol them in the Scare School."

"I thought the banshees detested that school."

"No, only its administration. Correction, its _previous_ administration. Mr. Alder and Mr. Dash had enough sense to retire in time, even though we had to pull a few strings to make it happen. And despite its remaining faults, the Scare School does have the most versatile education of any school available to our kind."

"I understand."

"Also, they have mixed classes. The children should get their education in a diverse community, rather than in a...segregated one."

"Segregated? What are you implying, Madame?"

Morose looked more intrepidly than ever at the vampire nobleman. She knew exactly how freely she was allowed to speak, considering her background and position.

"You may not be entirely isolationist any more, but you cannot deny that vampires still act very..._superior_."

The Count leaned back, looking thoughtful. He stared into the air for a while before he said:

"The children are learning about calacas tonight."

"Yes, I overheard it just now"

The Count straightened up again, and looked his female companion in the eyes:

"You talk of _vampires_ acting superior, Madame. Well, not to be rude, but what about the young calaca you took away from his own kind just a few years ago?"

Morose scowled. "You mean Murky? We did not _take_ him from his own kind, as much as we kept them from getting him in the first place."

"And that is not acting superior? The Count barely managed to suppress a smug smile: "You even gave him a Banshee name."

"It was…a working title. Nowadays, he's called Skull Boy."

After a short, awkward pause, Morose added: "Yeah, I know. But he chose it himself. And it's not like we kept him for long. We left him at the Gloom family's mansion, where his skills could develop more properly. Thanks to the IAP, he's rapidly turning into a young man, and his skills are progressing nicely."

"How do you follow his development?"

"My niece Misery is living at the mansion now. She's writing letters to the family, updating us on the boy's development."

"I see."

"And for your information", Morose added indignantly, "The mansion is now home to a variety of creatures, so it's _not_ like us Banshees think we're the only ones _superior_ enough to look after him!"

"Even so, you're keeping him away from the calaca community." The vampire stoically pointed out.

Morose crossed her arms. "And I'm not apologizing for that. The calacas are good people, but just like the spooks, they are too leisurely – They cannot appreciate a great intellect like Murky's. It would wither in their company. They took it nicely, anyway. All they asked for was that a band of calaca musicians would be allowed to visit the mansion regularly to keep an eye on the boy's artistic abilities."

"Yes, whatever else one thinks of the calacas, one must admire their musical abilities. Which bandmaster did they send?"

"Taylor Wilson."

"I've met him. Charming fellow."

"Although he calls himself _Skele-T_ nowadays."

The Count smiled. "What calaca names lack in dignity, they make up for in charming descriptiveness." Then he nipped at his goblet before he got serious again.

"So have you decided what use we will make of the Skull Boy's intellect? See, many leading figures in the vampire community have told me that they are getting suspicious of The Center – Especially of the true intentions of its leadership..."

"I don't trust M.O.M. either, but I thought we agreed that Mur...Skull Boy is not to be regarded as a weapon."

"I'm just saying we should keep all possibilities open."

"We will not allow Skull Boy's development to be tainted by petty ethnic and tribalist interests. Gloomsville is the ideal place to avoid that sort of thing – It's free, not only of human prejudices towards creatures, but also vice versa!"

"I suspect that last comment was aimed as much at the Scare School as my school, Madame."

"You're probably right about that. But the point is, there will be no pressure on the boy. He needs to find his own direction and purpose."

"Fair enough. But what does the observing party think about this? What is your niece's opinion?"

"She doesn't have one, because she knows nothing about this."

"Come again?"

"To Misery, Skull Boy is just another one of her friends at the mansion. I think she might remember that the family briefly took in a kid calaca that we named Murky, but there's nothing in her letters to suggest that she's made any clear connections. So we decided not to tell her."

"A curious decision, Madame. As the family historian, your niece should be informed of the child's history."

"Agreed. If he had a history."

"Sorry?"

Morose took a good twinge of her goblet.

"See, from our resident psychic we were warned that a young child with great talents was about to resurrect as a calaca. We had no name, but we had the coordinates, so we sent an envoy to get the child anyway. When she got there, the child was roaming the graveyard, bewildered. He had lost his memory, as most calacas do in their resurrection process…"

The Count interrupted her: "Wait, he could _walk_? I heard that the child calaca of Gloom mansion was left on the doorstep as a baby."

"We asked the Glooms to make up that story, in ordrer to confuse anyone who might be looking for him. He was actually a toddler when he was found."

"You're not taking any chances, do you?"

"Banshees never do."

"But this doesn't explain why you claim that the child has no history."

"It was my daughter who went to pick up the child – she has the friendliest disposition of anyone in our family, so we figured she'd be the safest. It didn't occur to her to look for an open grave when the child was already up and walking anyway, and I don't really blame her. We never considered it that important. So you see, Count, my niece's position as an historian in not relevant, for this child has no history to speak about. There are also other reasons, of course. We want Misery to remain an impartial observer who can treat the boy like any other acquaintance. Unfortunately, Misery informs me that Skull Boy refuses to leave the past be. He keeps on speculating about his background, and is apparently desperate to learn more about whatever family he might have had once. If this goes on, we might have to explain my niece the whole thing, and ask her to do some detective work. If only he can get some answers, perhaps he will be content. And then – "

Morose paused to empty her goblet. Then she concluded:

"- Skull Boy needs to look forward."

* * *

* * *

And there you have it. With this, I've finished my long-running series of Ruby Gloom origin stories, although I might make references to it in future chapters of the _End of Innocence_ series I've just started. I hope the explanation of Skull Boy's nature wasn't creeping you out too much. After giving this a lot of thought, I decided that the "undead" explanation was the only way to explain why there are living skeletons. Any other explanation would've made my head explode. Granted it still makes no sense that a skeleton can walk, think and talk anyway, but…well, you know what I mean.

**Crossover references:** The story takes place on the _School For Vampires_. The school and all the characters who actually make a personal appearance in the story (except for Morose) are © HAHN films. Other animated series referred to are _Casper's Scare School_ and (yet again, but very briefly) _Martin Mystery_

Morose and the _Ruby Gloom_ animated series is © Nelvana

If anyone's wondering, the title of this story comes from the education campaign slogan "A mind is a terrible thing to waste".

And now I'm going to get some supper. Be seeing you around!


End file.
